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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058430">the first monday in may</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife'>livingtheobsessedlife</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fashion Designer Steve Rogers, M/M, but Steve is just a regular designer, he’s the Ralph Lauren of this universe okay, met gala au, the most wild first date basically, this is me indulging in my Met Gala obsession, well no Tony is iron man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:02:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you just- fight off a monster while I was on hold?”</p><p>“Uh, no? Sorry. Or, Well- Yeah. Pepper gets mad when I do that. Sorry. It’s not a disrespectful thing. Promise. It’s just so easy to get patched into-“</p><p>“See, this is exactly why I picked you to wear my stuff for the Met!”</p><p>“Wait, what?”</p><p>“You put your whole life on hold to save the rest of the world. It’s not fair of people to blame you for something you’re trying to stop.”</p><p>“Oh... thanks.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the first monday in may</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this back in- guess what month! May! haha!- around when this year’s met gala would’ve been, and after convincing myself I was never gonna finish it, I actually ended up picking it up again. So now here we have it! The Met Gala designer!Steve fic that nobody asked for- enjoy! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony’s sunbathing on the landing pad of his Malibu mansion, stretched out over a striped towel laid across a white lounge chair, sunglasses perforating a tan line around his temples as his phone blasts AC/DC from beneath his chair, when his phone rings. </p><p>“What’s up?” Tony asks, clicking the big green button and squinting into the sun. </p><p>“Call for Tony Stark.”</p><p>Tony cups his hand around the screen of his phone as he glimpses at the caller ID in the sunlight. It’s a New York number, but no contact info. Having spent the last six months very publicly in Malibu, he knows it’s not somebody looking for a quick brunch, but the lack of a caller ID indicates it’s not somebody from SI. Tony returns the phone to his ear, letting his eyes close against the sunlight. </p><p>“Uh, yeah. This is he. Who’s this?”</p><p>“Please hold for Steve Rogers.”</p><p>“Steve Rogers?” Tony gapes aloud, “Like the designer?”</p><p>The hold music’s playing before he gets a response. </p><p>Steve Rogers. Tony recognizes the name. Hell, anybody who’s ever opened a magazine or watched the highlights reel of an Academy Award red carpet has stared in awe at his work. Steve has been revolutionizing the fashion industry for decades now. Known for his extremely private life and his deceptively youthful appearance (seriously the guy looks decades younger than he actually is- he’s been accused of sorcery on multiple occasions), Steve Rogers’ word is basically gospel in the fashion industry nowadays. What he says goes and nobody questions it. </p><p>That being said, Tony has no idea why the hell this guy is calling him.</p><p>“Hello, Mr Stark?” A voice says as the gentle polka of the hold music is abruptly cut off mid-phrase, “You there?”</p><p>“Yeah, this is Tony Stark. Who am I speaking to exactly?”</p><p>“Oh, didn’t they tell you? My name is Steve Rogers.”</p><p>“Like… the designer?”</p><p>“The one and only.”</p><p>“While it’s a pleasure to have a... voice to match to the name, is there a reason you’re calling me?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Steve says offhandedly, somehow simultaneously sounding nervous while also manhandling complete control of the conversation, “Would you agree if I invited you to the Met Gala this year?”</p><p>“The Met Gala?” Tony repeats, surprised. </p><p>“Yes, that’s what I said. Is our connection bad?”</p><p>“No, sorry, I just- you’re picking me for the Met Gala?”</p><p>“Yes, I am.” </p><p>Steve says it so quickly and so matter-of-factly, Tony almost forgets that there was a yes or no question somewhere in there. </p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>Steve makes a hum, a noise not unlike Tony’s repulsor beams charging up. Tony imagines Steve stands up and starts pacing his office, if the vague shuffling sounds on the other end of the line are any indication. </p><p>“Mr Stark, every year select designers are permitted to choose who wears their designs to the met gala. I’m not interested in any models or instagram influencers, whatever counts as celebrities nowadays. I told Anna as soon as she told me the theme, that Iron Man’s my first choice.”</p><p>Tony’s speechless. </p><p>The thing about Steve Rogers is that he’s on a bit of a political streak, and everybody knows it. Something about a midlife crisis. He’s seemingly no longer interested in the mundane. He wants to make a difference, wants to speak out. It’s all very noble of him. Controversial, too, often enough. And picking the infamous Tony Stark, the man behind the Iron Man mask, to be your model for the met gala is about as controversial as it gets. Being a superhero comes with a lot of controversy in Tony’s experience, but Steve seems to want to almost embrace that. </p><p>“Really? Your first choice?”</p><p>“Actually, yeah. First choice. Mr Stark, is that a yes or a no?”</p><p>“Oh yeah, uh, that’ll be a yes. I guess. I think. What do I have to do exactly?”</p><p>“We’ll fly you up to New York sometime before the gala, fit you up, and tailor the design to fit you exactly, then on the first Monday in May you’ll be walking down the carpet and be able to head right back to Malibu the next morning if that’s what you want. I’ll do all the designing and sewing, you just have to show up.”</p><p>Tony hums noncommittally to himself, reaches beneath his chair and bats around blindly for his water bottle. He squints into the sun, feels a bead of sweat bleed from his hairline around to the base of his neck. He takes a long, cool suck of water. </p><p>“Alright,” Tony says into the phone, “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”</p><p>He swears that he can hear Steve’s smile through the phone as the designer apparently beams. It’s fascinating. </p><p>“That’s great news, Mr Stark! I can’t wait to work with you.”</p><p>“If we’re gonna work together, could you at least call me Tony?”</p><p>Steve chuckles and Tony thinks<i> who the hell is this guy</i>, “Sure thing Mr- uh Tony.”</p><p>“Thanks. See you in May.”</p><p>And just like that, Tony hangs up on the greatest fashion designer of his generation. He wants a popsicle anyway. </p><p>Truth be told, Tony forgets about their whole deal for awhile after that. </p><p>He’s got more important things to do. Superhero things to do. Arguing with the media things to do. Running a multi-billion dollar company things to do. He forgets to tell Pepper immediately (he has to tell Pepper absolutely anything he wants to remember or he will 100% forget it. Contrary to Tony, her mind is like a Stark-related steel trap, compartmentalized and color coded). The whole deal fades out of his brain for awhile. Distracted by laying in the sun and the sweet feel of tangerine popsicles on his tongue. </p><p>That is, until he’s five miles off the California coastline, hanging over the Pacific Ocean with a tentacle-clad  sea monster hissing at him from below, and JARVIS tells him he’s got a call.</p><p>“I’m- uh- little busy here, buddy. Maybe tell ‘em to call me back?”</p><p>“I’m afraid they’re insisting, sir.”</p><p>“Ugh, fine,” Tony groans, doing a loop-di-loop in the air and slicing one of the grabby tentacles in half with his repulsors. Only seven more to go, “Patch em through.”</p><p>“Very well, sir. Patching through.”</p><p>“Pep, I told you I’ve got this under control. You gotta stop-“</p><p>“Mr Stark. Am I interrupting something?”</p><p>That’s definitely not Pepper.</p><p>Tony’s half-distracted fighting the Loch Ness monster on steroids, but he manages to patch together the forgotten touch-memory of a sweating water bottle and a hot, striped towel laid out beneath his thighs, “Steve Rogers?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s me. What’re you doing right now?”</p><p>“Uh, nothing,” Tony says as the monster makes a swipe at him. He uses the attack to his advantage, swinging himself around the offensive arm a couple times and taking out the one adjacent to it, “What’s up, Rogers?”</p><p>“Your suit’s done. For the gala. I wanted to set a time for you to come up and try it on so we could tailor it within the next couple of weeks.”</p><p>“Shit,” Tony curses because he’d totally forgotten about the gala. Then- “<i>Shit</i>.” Because the monster has a hold of his left ankle and doesn’t seem to want to let go.</p><p>“I can call you back if this is a bad time,” Steve says again, but Tony insists.</p><p>“No, no, no. This is totally- <i>fuck</i>- fine. Just one sec. Can I put you on hold? It’ll be quick. Promise. JARVIS cue boogie playlist for our guest, Kay?”</p><p>Tony rushes through his demolition of the gross, now-armless sea monster so as not to let a fashion god waiting. The monster makes a bellowing death cry as its armless head falls helplessly into the ocean, its arms already sinking fast to the bottom ahead of it. </p><p>Iron Man lands on the beach, one knee to the sand and a fist punching down to balance himself, a tsunami of little kids’ sandcastles blasting out from behind him like a violent dress train, when he tells JARVIS to put Steve back on.</p><p>“Sorry about that. We were picking a date for me to come up. What were you thinking?”</p><p>“Did you just- fight off a monster while I was on hold?”</p><p>“Uh, no? Sorry. Or, Well- Yeah. Pepper gets mad when I do that. Sorry. It’s not a disrespectful thing. Promise. It’s just so easy to get patched into-“</p><p>“See, this is <i>exactly</i> why I picked you!”</p><p>“Wait, what?”</p><p>“You put your whole life on hold to save the rest of the world. It’s not fair of people to blame you for something you’re trying to stop.”</p><p>“Oh. Thanks.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Tony feels something warm bubble up into his stomach. Something like fondness (or maybe just hunger. He hasn’t eaten since dinner with Pepper last night before he buried himself in his workshop. He should probably get on that). He clears his throat. </p><p>“It’s in May, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, May.”</p><p>“You can probably just pencil me in for whatever day works best for your crew.”</p><p>“Don’t you need to arrange for flights and stuff?”</p><p>Tony snorts involuntarily, “I have a faster way to travel. I don’t have to worry about arranging any of that, don’t fret.”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah.”</p><p>“Just give me a date, and I’ll have my assistant make sure I’m there.”</p><p>“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, and Iron Man trips on an abscess in the sand, the heavy boots overly-correcting the incidental falter. </p><p>“No problem, Rogers. See you in May.”</p><p>Steve’s the first to hang up. Tony isn’t used to that. </p><p>“Hey, JARVIS?” Tony says distractedly, busy side-eyeing the swarm of journalists with their pointy heels sinking into the sand tripping over themselves to get to the Iron Man, “Uh, let’s go to the mansion before this gets messy, yeah? We have a flight to prepare for.”</p><p>All his life, Tony had always preferred the blistering Cali sun and waves to the endless concrete of the New York skyscape, but his own name branded into the sky is certainly a warm invitation of return. </p><p>After entering the tri-state area airspace, he lands on top of his personal Stark Tower landing pad. There’s a news chopper hovering above the K in his name and a posse of angry protestors waiting for him outside of the lobby 100 floors below. Home sweet home, or something like that. He doesn’t intend to stay long anyway- Cali’s calling or whatever other hippie bullshit he wants to use to rationalize his return. </p><p>“JARVIS, route me to my meeting with Rogers, yeah?” He asks, fingers transcribing mindless equations onto his watch on the short walk from the landing pad to the back elevator leading surreptitiously to Tony’s personal garage out of the building.</p><p>“Very well,” JARVIS says, “And I will take the initiative to notify Mr Rogers that you’re on your way.”</p><p>Tony leans against the back of the elevator as the doors shut in front of him, and he smiles, “You’re the best, JARVIS.”</p><p>When Tony arrives at Steve’s office, the atmosphere is thick and chaotic to say the least. Junior designers and interns rush frantically with coffees and long spools of fabric alike. There’s phones ringing and voices calling out. Tony swears he hears somebody at the opposite end of the hallway shout eureka. He’s reminded once again how unlike California New York really is: all bustle and holler whereas the west coast is about kicking back with your ankles crossed and serene palm trees swaying against the ocean breeze. </p><p>“You’re late,” A blazing redhead says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with an important-looking folder perched in the crook of her elbow, hip popped to complete the look. Tony would bet pennies on the dollar that she would get along with Pepper like gangbusters. He makes a mental note never to introduce the two, but suddenly the woman is turning gracefully and marching down the hallway, “He’s waiting for you.”</p><p>She opens the fourth door on the left, the one that looks identical to all the other grey doors, and pushes Tony through. He’s got his mouth hanging open, jaw unhinged and ready to bicker right back at this pushy, hardheaded redhead, but she taps at her clipboard and lets the door close behind her in one fell swoop. When Tony turns around to face the owner of the office, he finds the one and only Steve Rogers smiling at him from behind a half-pinned mannequin.</p><p>“Hey, Mr Stark,” He says cheerily, “Welcome back to New York. Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”</p><p>Tony looks back at the door. He’s used to Pepper being the only redhead who can proverbially grab him by the ankles and flip his world inside out in a single moment like that. His eyes dart back to Steve. He falls into the nearest chair, crosses one leg over the other, and tries to regain his typical casual equilibrium.</p><p>“Thanks, Rogers. So how do we do this fitting thing?”</p><p>Steve grins. </p><p>“Let’s get to it, and you can find out.”</p><p>It turns out that Steve had been right way back when. There really wasn’t a lot to the whole fitting thing. Steve took some measurements, laid a form on top of Tony that exemplified what the General shape of the outfit would look like on Tony’s body, then promptly shooed the tech mogul off the podium. </p><p>Tony whips around to face Steve, once again six inches shorter, and his shock is caught cruelly in the shiny triad of mirrors, “Seriously? That’s it?”</p><p>“Yep,” Steve nods, and Tony doesn’t miss the way his cheeks redden as he focuses on the strand of sewing tape he winds around his forefinger, “I want it to be a surprise.”</p><p>Tony watches Steve for a moment, head down, eyes dark and thoughtful. Tony can deal with surprises. Surprises are fine. Occasionally, surprises are even great. Like when Pepper calls and tells him she doesn’t feel like going to Paris right now, she’s too busy, oh Tony won’t you please be my hero and go to a romantic, faraway European city in my place? A good surprise. Tony can deal. </p><p>“Alright. Whatever you say,” Tony half-jokes, backing himself into the tiny changing room built into the corner of the large fitting chambers. He throws the shower-curtain-like barrier closed with a flourish and slips back into his typical suit.</p><p>When he finally trips out, tugging his suit jacket straight with one hand and curling his fingers into the backs of his shoes, otherwise barefoot, he’s surprised that Steve’s still in the room, “Oh, hey. Is there something else we need to do?”</p><p>Steve seems surprised that Tony questions his presence at all, his mouth morphing into this tiny little ‘o’ shape, but then he’d been so quiet standing there that Tony had assumed he’d left. </p><p>“No, I just- can I walk you out?”</p><p>Tony hesitates, but nods. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, “Sure, Rogers. If it really, truly makes you happy,” He’s got a wicked grin, and he winks at the door, “Arent you coming?”</p><p>The weird thing is, Steve doesn’t actually say anything as he walks Tony out of the building. No conversation, not a single platitude. Just general, amiable silence. And Tony just- he just sits in it, lets it build around him like a brick wall. It’s weird. </p><p>“Welp, thanks,” Tony says quickly as the large, glass doors of the building’s lobby come into view, “I’m looking forward to the big day.”</p><p>Steve smiles, looking almost shy like he could bend in on himself if he really tried, “It really is my pleasure, Mr Stark. It’s an honor to work with somebody doing good work like you.”</p><p>Tony’s never been one to take a compliment well- his ego constantly in retrograde between bloated and overly-modest like a cruel, wobbling pendulum- so he waves his hands awkwardly, shrugs his shoulders up to his chin, and shuffles away from Steve in the direction of the door, “Uh, thanks. I- it’s been an honor working with you too, Mr Rogers. You’re a legend in the business. Your support means a lot to me. Uh, have a good one, I guess. See you around.”</p><p>And with that he- well, to put it lightly- Tony gets the hell out of there. </p><p>There’s something weird about Steve Rogers. </p><p>The day of the met gala, Tony isn’t as nervous as he probably should be. </p><p>Child celebrity and all that. Red carpets and obtrusive, flashing cameras aren’t really anything new for Tony Stark. </p><p>JARVIS gets Tony to where he needs to be in the early morning- a swanky uptown hotel at which Steve and his employees have secured an over-the-top suite for Tony to get ready in. Steve’s already waiting for him when Tony gets there. </p><p>“Morning, Stark,” Steve grins, and Tony doesn’t miss Steve’s seemingly casual deep blue, well-cut suit, “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Tony grins and flounces to a white leather chair with the melodrama of any Stark, “Feeling great, Rogers. I’m ready to get beautified.”</p><p>Steve introduces Tony to his beauty team, an excited group of young beauticians that worship the ground Steve walks on, then excuses himself from the suite. </p><p>“I’ll be back later,” Steve promises, “I have some work to do, and I have to get dolled up myself, but I promise I’ll be here for the big reveal.”</p><p>Tony holds up a proud pinky finger even as one of the beauticians approaches him with a large, black eyeliner pen, “I’m holding you to that, Rogers. See you later.”</p><p>Tony’s no stranger to being pampered and beautified. He’s surprised his fair share of exes by agreeing to get mani-pedis with them, paying for expensive spa treatments, and sitting back and seriously watching as ex-girlfriends applied thick, beautiful layers of makeup.</p><p>He holds his hands out like wilting leaves offered to the sun for one of the makeup artists to carefully paint his nails.</p><p>“Anna, dear, what color are we doing today?” He asks her as she leads on with two hands full of tiny glass bottles of colored polish. </p><p>She grins slyly at him from under her eyelashes, pinning his hand to the table with the threatening intent of a nail clipper, “Can’t tell. Surprise. Boss’s orders.”</p><p>Tony rolls his eyes and tries to peer at the pile of colors despite himself, “Rule followers are so boring,” He jibes, but she doesn’t acquiesce, just glances up at him with a mischievous grin, “Boohoo. Boring.”</p><p>By the time the hair, nails, and makeup of Tony’s gala look are primed and finished off, Steve reenters, dressed handsomely in an amazing blue crushed velvet suit that only a fashion legend like him could make seem so effortless. Tony’s forced to stay in the black leather seat with his legs crossed as Steve appraises the beauticians’ work with a small smile. </p><p>“You guys did a great job. Thanks,” His eyes flash to the hanging black garment bag he left in the corner of the room earlier that afternoon, “Now for the finishing touch. You ready to get dressed, Mr Stark?”</p><p>Tony grins, “Hell yeah.”</p><p>Steve’s smile grows, “Let’s do this.”</p><p>There’s a special kind of heat that is felt when there’s that many cameras flashing at you, big, bright bulbs blinking your likeness into an immortal evidence. It feels kinda like the combined force of being struck by a warm lightning as well as the tepid, itchy feeling of somebody watching you from behind. Tony’s always hated the feeling of cameras flashing at him, but like a lot of other uncomfortable things, he’s become used to the feeling. </p><p>“Hey, folks,” Tony preens, waving almost sardonically at the mass of paparazzi snapping his picture, the pink carpet spread before him. Steve smiles beside him. </p><p>Until you’ve walked a red carpet, there’s no way to describe the cacophony of noise you’re met with.</p><p>It’s like if a flock of seagulls learned English and you have a single piece of bread in your pocket and they all know it. They all demand something at the same time, raising their individual voice to be heard over the mob, a pandemonium of its own, each voice like a single wave within a tumultuous sea. </p><p>The Met Gala is no different. </p><p>Reporters and photojournalists bombard Tony from both sides not only with strict flashes of light, but with useless demands as well, increasing their volume with each step he takes. </p><p>
  <i>Look here, Tony! Is it true, Tony? How do you feel? Do you like your look? Look here! Look here!</i>
</p><p>His first step onto the carpet, and the volume increases threefold. </p><p>It’s not just about who he is, it’s also about who he’s wearing. </p><p>Steve Rogers does not do things by halves. He did not become one of the most reputable names in fashion by doing things willy nilly. When he said he was going to design Tony’s look for the Met Gala, he meant it, and he meant to make it absolutely jaw-dropping. </p><p>The theme for this year’s Met is fitting. Power, Strength, Functionality, and Fashion: Superheroes Today, Tomorrow, and Yesterday. The theme was quite literally made for Tony, a bona fide hero himself. He’s fated to stand out stunningly with a theme like that, and Steve certainly delivers. </p><p>The look that Steve creates for Tony is equally fitting. The basics of it is an all black suit: black jacket, black tie, black shirt, black pants, black shoes. Hell, he’s even got real onyx cufflinks. It’s all very dark and dramatic.</p><p>The flair of Tony’s look, however, lies in the accessories. Red and gold and often emitting a faint cerulean glow, the litany jewelry covering Tony’s body head to toe gives the intense illusion of levitating about his body, a surreal technological aura that encapsulates the history and power of the Iron Man.</p><p>“You really did a great job,” Tony manages out of the corner of his mouth, a perfect smile pasted on his face as Steve follows after him on the carpet, a large hand soft against Tony’s lower back. </p><p>Steve smiles, “You look great.”</p><p>And then Tony turns, faces the other side, gives the paparazzi what they want. He’s guided toward the pink steps, literally glowing, and they’re both lead toward the few reporters given passes to stand in front of the velvet rope for interviews, microphone in hand. They’re immediately split up. </p><p>Tony’s interviews aren't very interesting. Not to him at least. They all ask the same questions.</p><p>“Who’s dressing you?” <i>Rogers</i>.</p><p>“What does this theme mean to you?” <i>Well, I am an actual superhero. Need I say more?</i></p><p>“What made you decide to do the met gala this year when you’ve never gone before?” <i>Well, Old Steve over there asked me. I didn’t have much choice in the matter. It’s been a real honor. </i></p><p>He’s trying to hurry them along, inch toward the large double doors leading into the museum. He heard that somewhere beyond the exhibit there was food, delicious food. He rushes the last interview. </p><p>However, as Tony reaches the end of the line, he looks back and finds that Steve’s got four more crews to talk to. He seems to be stuck on the third one in, brow furrowed and his cheeks reddening hotly. </p><p>Tony unabashedly listens in. </p><p>“I really don’t think that’s fair, sir,” He says, and if he weren’t so sensible and respectable, it’d almost sound like he was cursing out the reporter. Steve gets this heated, patriotic-looking expression, face hot, “You see, I chose Stark because he’s a hero. Sure, he’s unconventional, and maybe he’s dangerous. But at least he’s doing something. I’ve seen it in action, he doesn’t do what he does for money or recognition, he does it for the people. It’s incredible and deserves to be recognized. In fact, I don’t think it’s controversial at all,” He clears his throat meaningfully, an inch away from being a threat, “Do you think so?”</p><p>The reporter visibly shifts on the balls of their feet, “Uh, well put, Mr Rogers. Thank you.”</p><p>Steve gives a succinct nod before turning and walking off, leapfrogging over the rest of the interviews without a second glance to rejoin Tony by the doors. Tony can’t seem to look away.</p><p>“I heard that,” Tony says quickly as Steve approaches. His indignant frown somehow impossibly morphs into a smile. </p><p>“Did you? Hope you don’t mind.”</p><p>“No, no, no. Please,” Tony says, only kidding the tiniest bit. He accepts the crook of Steve’s elbow and is finally guided by Steve himself through the doors into the museum, “You can wax poetic about my heroic abilities anytime.”</p><p>They fall into silence, a close lipped smile still touching the corners of Steve’s lips, as they enter the main exhibit. Heroes’ costumes from all times are displayed under dazzling lights, draped proudly on mannequins. They’re silent the whole way through. </p><p>It isn’t until they reach the dining hall that Tony finally pipes up, a grin on his face, “Seriously, though,” He says, his voice serious and low, “Thanks.”</p><p>Steve grins, “Any time, Stark.”</p><p>After the party, Steve presses a chaste, very gentlemanly kiss to Tony’s cheek, “Good night, Tony. Thank you for coming.”</p><p>Tony grins, and seriously considers doing something significantly less gentlemanly. Instead, he touches his palms together and tamps down on his urges, smiles instead, “Night, Rogers.”</p><p>And with that, Tony takes off at a jog, palms outstretched, and red metals chunks soar in from all angles to collect around his body. At the last second, he bends his knees, the last piece clicks into place, and Iron Man kicks off into the night sky. </p><p>Steve is left standing there alone, after midnight, the street quiet, and he stares up at the silhouette of Iron Man in the night sky and smiles to himself. </p><p>Later, he’ll get a call. He’ll recognize the number and pick up despite the hour, conspicuously breathless.</p><p>“Mr Stark?” He breathes into the phone.</p><p>He can practically hear Tony’s smile. </p><p>“Hey, Rogers. I was wondering- sorry it’s so late. I was wondering if you’d want to meet up again sometime?”</p><p>Steve is positive that Tony catches Steve’s sharp intake of breath, “I’d like that.”</p><p>It’s much too late to be making near-delirious dates with beautiful people. The space behind his eyes aches, and he can still feel the alcohol from the party systematically lacing its way through his body like a boa constrictor on a mission, but he’s smiling with the phone to his ear.</p><p>“You wouldn’t have to dress me this time,” Tony promises offhandedly, as if he didn’t know that Steve absolutely loved dressing Tony Stark, that it’s wasn’t a huge honor and kinda a dream, “But I think we could have a nice time anyway.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agrees, head fuzzy.</p><p>Tony laughs lightly, and Steve imagines him in the dark somewhere, maybe nursing a drink, sitting in silk pajamas or boxer shorts or whatever billionaires sleep in. It had been a long day.</p><p>“Good night, Steve,” Tony says, his voice painfully soft, “See you around.”</p><p>A week later, the two are caught in public.</p><p>No armored, flying suits, no tuxes. Just the two of them at a restaurant that at least tries to be discreet. Less cameras, less paparazzi, less on-lookers. Well, no, that last one isn’t quite true. There’s probably even more nosy on-lookers than a pre-planned, well publicized event considering they’re on a date. But the point still stands. </p><p>“There’s a man with a camera phone behind you,” Steve mumbles as he reaches across the table to snag a breadstick from the basket, “Don’t look.”</p><p>Tony grins, “Really? Wanna give him a show?”</p><p>“Wha- <i>ohh</i>?”</p><p>In one swift movement Tony reaches across the table and grabs gently at Steve’s collar, pulling Steve’s face to meet his as they linger over the bread basket, and pressing a not-so-chaste kiss to his date’s lips. In front of the whole world and their camera phones to witness. </p><p>As Tony releases his grip on Steve’s collar, he sits himself neatly back into his seat, grinning. Steve’s brain appears to have stopped working, an amusing sight that Tony wants to make happen over and over and over again. </p><p>“Uhh,” Steve manages, and Tony cracks up. </p><p>“So,” Tony says, reaching smoothly for a breadstick of his own and tearing it in half, “Is he still looking?”</p><p>Steve chances a glance behind Tony. Following directions is about as much coherency as his brain can manage after that, “Actually, no,” He doesn’t mean to sound as surprised as he does, “He isn't.”</p><p>Tony takes a satisfied bite of bread and winks at his date, “Wonderful. Privacy.”</p><p>Steve feels his cheeks burn despite his smile. There’s something about the way Tony said it, like he knows exactly what he had before him and he knows exactly what he wants to do with it. It makes an excited shiver run through Steve’s body from his crossed ankles to his hand wrapped around his wine glass. </p><p>He smiles. </p><p>The next day, the two of them are pasted onto the front page of almost every tabloid in America. In a few, there’s an inner spread about the supposed timeline of their clandestine relationship, the blurry picture of their date pasted next to an immaculate photo of them preening for the cameras at the Met. </p><p>Pepper drops the magazine on Tony’s desk with a smug expression, and he knows what’s coming before she even says a word. He kicks his feet up onto his desk and feigns innocence, “Hey, Pep,” He says slowly, “What’s that?”</p><p>“That?” Pepper raises an eyebrow and points almost meanly at the magazine between them, “It’s funny. I was gonna ask the same thing.”</p><p>Tony rolls his eyes. <i>How cliché</i>. </p><p>“That’s what the cool kids call a date, Pepper. I know for a fact you’ve been on a couple. Surely you have.”</p><p>Now Pepper rolls her eyes.</p><p>“I didn’t know you guys were dating.”</p><p>Tony wraps his arms around himself defensively, “We’re not, or- it’s new, okay? He wanted to thank me for going to the Met with him.”</p><p>“Oh my god, you like him. Like, <i>like him</i> like him. Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Tony frowns, glares at his CEO, “Get that smile off your face. Jerk.”</p><p>Pepper does not stop smiling smugly, she can’t. Instead she all but skips out of Tony’s office, leaving with a wink as she reaches the door, shutting it behind her. </p><p>Alone again, Tony lets his feet fall to the floor and he grabs at the magazine, flipping to the page with the completely fabricated article on his new relationship with the designer. Reading through it makes him laugh. </p><p>Almost completely formed around anonymous sources’ sourceless conjecture, Tony finds just about no truth in the article, but he spends an inordinate amount of time staring at the juxtaposition of pictures laid out for him before he pulls out his phone.</p><p>“What’s up, Tony?” Steve asks, picking up on the second ring. </p><p>Even alone in his office, he smiles, “I just read a very interesting article.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? ‘Bout what?”</p><p>“Us.”</p><p>Steve hesitates, can sense the hinges of the leaf-covered trap door creaking under his feet, but he takes the bait anyway, “Really?”</p><p>“Mmhmm. Here, let me read you an excerpt. <i>Sources of the Daily Mail say that Rogers is completely infatuated with Stark and despite the short period of time they’ve been dating, the couple intends to move really fast.</i> Infatuated, Rogers, are you?”</p><p>Tony can perfectly imagine the splotchy, pretty way Steve’s face reddens as he splutters hopelessly. Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever stop finding that endearing. </p><p>“You’re blushing, aren’t you?” He says, just to goad on his designer boyfriend (<i>Boyfriend</i>? Can he use that word? Probably not, but oh well). Steve continues to be incapable of forming proper words. </p><p>“You’re mean, Tony, you know that?”</p><p>“Oh, shush,” Tony smiles, “I know you like it, baby.”</p><p>Steve honest-to-god coughs this time, and Tony counts it as a full victory. He idly flips back to the page with the pictures as Steve coughs, the two of them caught smiling beautifically at one another as a million and one cameras flashed at them on the carpet. If he hadn’t been there in his own head, he’d almost say the smiley, ethereal way they’re looking at each other in the picture was in love. It all looks like pretty damning evidence. </p><p>Tony doesn’t notice that Steve has been trying to get his attention. </p><p>“You still there, Tony? Tony? Hey, Tony?”</p><p>“Huh? Sorry, distracted.”</p><p>Steve knows and understands Tony better than he has any right to, way better than somebody who’s been on one and a half dates with a man who spends most of the year on the other side of the country has any business understanding. Even without being there, he catches the meaning of Tony’s silence. </p><p>His voice drops soft and low, “What’re you thinking about?”</p><p>Tony hesitates, he really does. He sighs, “Just- did you mean it? When you said I’m a hero.”</p><p>Steve lets out a sharp stream of breath and his voice is high when he speaks, “Tony-“</p><p>He doesn’t say Tony’s ridiculous. He doesn’t say he’s making stuff up, or that he’s all in his own head. He just sighs sympathetically, sweetly. Tony treasures this reaction. </p><p>“I meant it more than I could possibly express. You’re a hero, Tony. You’re my hero.”</p><p>Tony’s voice is almost a whisper, and he can’t seem to look away from the blurry, photographic spread, “Thank you.”</p><p>Steve’s smile is all but audible, “<i>Anytime</i>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find me at tumblr as @dammit-stark for more drabbles/ramblings/random geeking</p></blockquote></div></div>
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